


Nothing to chance

by Cinnamaldeide



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Don’t copy to another site, Firenze | Florence, Fluff and Angst, Growing Old Together, M/M, Murder Husbands, Not Beta Read, Not even Minor Characters, Post-Season/Series 03, Ten Years Later, but no character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 17:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17370308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamaldeide/pseuds/Cinnamaldeide
Summary: Hannibal revisits an old promise and secures Will’s and his own legacy.Written for #AfterTheFall Fanzine





	Nothing to chance

“You’re safe now,” Hannibal says.

Will doubts Hannibal would sound so brief, so  _ quiet _ , were he really out of danger. He forces himself to trust his words, his unwavering eyes, all the same. “How long have you been in that monstrosity?” he asks instead, pointing at his plastic chair, close to his own bedside, rather uncomfortable looking. Will regrets his question as soon as he formulates it, but the sudden urge to hear Hannibal’s voice, to have him speak, doesn’t abandon him.

Hannibal merely stares at him with the sort of void expression he wears in those moments he never planned to experience, he deliberately forgot to consider while stitching his meticulous person suit. His absence of response remotely reminds Will of himself, admiring Abigail’s ear in his own sink; of her blood on Hannibal’s kitchen floor, where Will almost shared her fate.

Hannibal could barely contemplate Will’s demise administered by his own hands. Apparently, external influences are not included in his plans. The cryptic blankness depicted on his features and his stiff posture speak of intense relief, dare Will say gratefulness for his survival.

_ I’m alright _ , Will thinks, tentatively touching his own sutured injuries. He may not be entirely out of danger, but Will certainly feels safe now.

 

In hindsight, after years of utter coexistence and reciprocal recognition, Will concludes Hannibal may have vowed on his life that day.

 

“That’s enough,” Will warns.

Hannibal halts. Not another drop of the Chianti he’s pouring in their glasses passes over the neck of the bottle; its delicate bouquet reaches their nostrils, inviting their palate to make accurate guesses on its flavour. “Do you prefer to abstain from drinking further tonight?”

“I prefer you stop plying me with  _ wine _ ,” Will retorts, mildly reproachful, admiring the Arno river from their lavish, secluded apartment. “You should wish me inebriated, not intoxicated.”

Hannibal had waited to accomplish his unfinished business, compelled to leave nothing to chance; waited to confront Bedelia, to marinate and savour her at his pleasing; waited for Will to actually provide Freddie’s meat for their table; waited for Jack’s natural death to come back to Florence. To take Will with himself this time around. “I can’t believe you sometimes,” Will often admits, when glimpsing Hannibal’s intents and schemes, before assisting in their achievement.

There is only one remaining promise for Hannibal to fulfil. One last deal Hannibal shall honour after consuming his serving of Margot’s liver with fava beans; a moderate fee to be paid in exchange of a more favourable bargain on Alana’s behalf.

“Morgan will be here any moment,” Will observes, indolently eyeing the watch on his wrist, smiling at Hannibal with irredeemable fondness. “We should prepare ourselves to meet him,” Hannibal blithely chimes in response. “I look forward to make his acquaintance.”

 

Caressing his healed injuries with reverence, kissing his disfigured face in worship, Hannibal whispers words of commitment in his ear. “You shall have my complete devotion,” Hannibal says. “You shall lack nothing, for you granted me all I ever wanted.”

 

“Alana wasn’t entirely thrilled to learn her grandchildren would become ours,” Hannibal confesses in the intimacy of their sumptuous bed. “Our precious, devilish creatures,” he softly coos, endearment percolating his loving tone. “I guess she’ll drink her wife’s share of wine to forget.”

Hannibal seems to revel in his little acts of God; sparing borrowed lives, deconstructing families to reassemble for his own purposes. Bestowing priceless gifts upon his beloved, offerings for which Hannibal find close to no interest, but whose consequences he’ll selflessly face for the rest of his life, for their sake.

Will has been silently coveting a family long after Abigail’s passing; while Hannibal finds nourishment in Will’s existence and requires little more, he would tolerate that which would bring Will happiness and delight, to repay him in kindness.

“You literally gave me her family,” Will replies, complacent; he enjoys his generosity. “With interest.”

**Author's Note:**

> Photoset [on Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/418913) and [on Tumblr](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/post/181892376014/)


End file.
